I Reincarnated as a Prince Who Revolutionized the Kingdom-Chapter 54: Panic and Chaos

July 15th, 1893.

The city of Elysee was in chaos.

It had begun as whispers—rumors of General Marceau’s defeat at Fort Serrant. Then, by midday, the news had spread like wildfire. By evening, the capital was no longer a city of order but a city of unrest.

In the market squares and taverns, people gathered in clusters, murmuring among themselves. Royalist sympathizers, long forced into silence by the Republican regime, found renewed courage. The defeat of Marceau—hailed as the Republic’s greatest general—was proof that the tide of war had turned.

And at the heart of the commotion was a name: Prince Bruno of Elysea.

"The last rightful heir still lives!" an old noble shouted from atop a wooden cart in the Plaza de la République. "He fights for our kingdom! He fights for us!"

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The crowd roared in approval, their voices echoing through the streets. Others took up the chant:

"Long live Prince Bruno! Long live the true king!"

Republican banners that had hung from buildings for years were torn down and burned. In their place, the old blue and gold banners of the royal family were hastily painted onto walls. The people had found their rallying cry, and the Republic’s grip on the capital was starting to crack.

Inside the Bureau of State Security, Minister Emilia Voss paced furiously across the grand chamber where the Revolutionary Council had gathered. Her sharp heels clacked against the marble floor as she read the latest intelligence reports.

"This is a disaster," she snapped, slamming a report onto the table. "Marceau was our strongest general. And now he’s in chains."

Jean-Paul Lafayette, the Minister of Trade and Finance, rubbed his temples. "The economic situation was already dire, Emilia. With the loss of the southern strongholds, merchants are refusing to pay taxes. They’re declaring their allegiance to the prince."

General Hector Bellerose, head of the Republican Army, scowled. "We still have control over the capital, and we have the numbers. The prince may have won battles, but he hasn’t won the war."

Voss turned to him, eyes burning with frustration. "The people don’t care about battles! They care about what they see, and what they see is that the last prince of Elysea is marching toward them while we’re stuck debating policy!"

A courier burst into the chamber, breathing heavily. "Ministers, there are riots in the eastern and southern districts. Royalist supporters are calling for the prince to take the throne. The city guard is struggling to maintain order."

Bellerose’s fist clenched. "Then we use force. We crush this rebellion before it spreads further."

Voss hesitated for only a moment before nodding. "Do what needs to be done. Mobilize the National Guard and the Revolutionary Police. Show no mercy. If we let this riot fester, it’ll become a full-scale insurrection."

Bellerose saluted sharply and left the chamber, barking orders to his officers as he went.

The Streets of Elysee.

By nightfall, the Republican forces moved in. Armed soldiers marched through the streets, their muskets loaded and bayonets fixed. The National Guard, dressed in their blue and white uniforms, formed blockade lines at key intersections.

The protesters, initially emboldened by their numbers, soon realized what was coming. The Republic had made its decision—there would be no negotiations.

At the Plaza de la République, where thousands had gathered, the first shots were fired.

"Disperse immediately!" a Republican officer bellowed through a brass horn. "Return to your homes, or you will be fired upon!"

The crowd refused to move. A defiant cheer erupted:

"LONG LIVE PRINCE BRUNO!"

A second later, gunfire cracked through the air.

The front line of protesters collapsed as musket balls tore through flesh. Screams erupted, and the crowd panicked, scattering in all directions. But some fought back—barricades were hastily erected, stones were hurled, and desperate men and women charged at the soldiers with clubs and daggers.

The Revolutionary Police arrived next, wielding sabers and whips. They cut through the rioters with ruthless efficiency, showing no hesitation as they crushed resistance in the streets.

The Rue de Marigny, once a thriving marketplace, became a slaughterhouse.

"Run! RUN!" a man shouted as he pulled a wounded boy from the chaos, blood dripping from a bullet wound in the child’s leg.

The Republican soldiers, now emboldened by their orders, showed no mercy. Fires erupted as they torched any shop or home suspected of harboring royalist sympathizers.

By the time dawn approached, the streets were filled with bodies. The city smelled of gunpowder and blood.

Minister Voss stood on the balcony of the Bureau of State Security, looking down at the ruined streets. Smoke curled into the sky from the smoldering ruins of shops and homes.

She had won the battle. The riots had been quelled.

But at what cost?

Hundreds were dead. Thousands more had been imprisoned or had fled into hiding. The Republic had retained control of the capital—but it was now ruling through terror.

Lafayette joined her on the balcony, his face pale. "This… this was a mistake," he muttered.

Voss didn’t look at him. "It was necessary."

"Do you really think people will forget this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "They’ll remember who ordered the massacre. And they’ll fight even harder for the prince."

Voss’s grip on the balcony railing tightened. She knew he was right.

The news of the massacre reached the countryside within days. The peasants, once hesitant to take up arms, now saw the Republic for what it truly was—a regime that would kill its own citizens to stay in power.

In villages and towns across Elysea, the people rose up.

Farmers, blacksmiths, and former soldiers took up their weapons. Royalist banners flew over town halls. Local militias formed, preparing for Bruno’s arrival.

In Fort Rochevelle, Prince Bruno read the reports with a heavy heart. He had expected resistance from the Republic, but he had not expected this level of brutality.

He turned to his officers. "We don’t march on the capital as conquerors. We march as liberators. The people are waiting for us."

General Berthold nodded. "The Republic has shown its true colors. They rule by fear, but fear only lasts so long. What are your orders, Your Highness?"

Bruno folded the report and looked toward the horizon.

"We march. Elysee must be freed."